Merry Christmas, Darling
by BaiLong05
Summary: High School AU. Jack works hard on his Christmas present for Chase. Chase wishes he had the courage to tell Jack, "I love you." Possible trigger warnings because Chase and Jack are depressed messes. Rated for a small amount of sexual content. Two shot.
1. Chapter 1

"Don't forget your presents for the gift exchange!"

Jack released a breath through his nose, wishing he hadn't heard Fung yell the reminder to his students as they rushed out the door for the day. Tomorrow was the last day of classes before winter break, a half day that was supposed to be for finals. His history teacher, though, Master Fung—why they had to call him "Master" was beyond him—had moved their final up so they could have a Christmas party.

Which was cool. He could totally deal with that. Food, punch, maybe a movie instead of class—he wasn't complaining about that. What he was complaining about was the gift exchange. Everyone in class had been given the name of another classmate to get a gift for. The names were supposedly chosen at random, but he had his doubts. Why?

Because there was no way Master Fung had just _randomly_ pulled the name he'd given Jack out of a hat.

Someone shoved him roughly aside as he tried to get to his locker and he looked up to see the very classmate he was supposed to give a gift to. Long black hair with almost a green sheen to it, golden eyes, dark skin.

Chase Young.

He was the top of the food chain in Xiaolin Academy. He had everything: good looks, good grades, good game. He was the best martial artist on the school's team, and of course the team captain, too. The leader of a clique known as the Heylins. Every girl in school wanted him, every guy wanted to be him.

Then there was him. He was definitely the bottom of the food chain, lower even than the freshies. Partly because by age he should be a freshie, but due to his freak of nature brain he'd skipped a few grades. He was the only senior who couldn't drive, who didn't own a car, whose parents still had to come pick him up and sign him out whenever he got sick. Or they would, if they cared enough to. He couldn't count how many times he'd puked in a bathroom trashcan between classes because he knew there was no point in having the school call his parents.

And, of course, there was the fact that he was probably the only guy in school who wanted Chase just as much as he wanted to be him.

Logically he knew that was highly unlikely to be true, but it felt like he was the only one. There was zero chance Chase would ever like him back, either. He'd probably dated every girl in school, the way they all gushed over how good he was in bed.

He was currently dating Wuya—again. They were an on again, off again thing. Had been since middle school. She was a nasty little bitch, but Chase wasn't exactly the nicest of guys, so maybe they were suited for each other.

Master Fung randomly pulls Chase's name with his, the wimpy little brainiac who could have skipped several more grades but didn't just because he'd stupidly thought he would be able to become friends and possibly more with the guy he'd admired almost literally since he was in diapers? Hah!

Honestly, it hadn't been that stupid of a thought back then. He'd been in elementary school when he'd first met Chase, back before they realized he was "gifted" and began jumping him forward. Chase had been nice back then. Kind. He'd been a clumsy kid—still was, actually—and they'd met when he'd literally fallen into the other boy's arms. He was doomed from that moment, to be honest. He'd met those fucking golden eyes and his whole world had tilted, stuttering to a stop. When it had started again, it had revolved around Chase.

They'd bumped him forward not long after that, landing him at his request in Chase's grade. And… for awhile… things had been perfect.

Then middle school happened. Everyone was beginning to go through puberty—except him. His brain was ahead of the pack but his body was way behind, and in middle school it didn't matter that he could solve advanced equations in his head or build a robot from a dismantled alarm clock. He was still a kid, and they were growing up.

That's when Chase began to grow distant. He stopped hanging out with him, gradually. Little by little, and he hadn't realized what was happening until it was too late. He didn't stop crying for a week.

By the time they'd gotten to high school, he'd stopped trying. He'd resigned himself to being the outcast; kept his head down. Tried not to talk, because it was embarrassing to have a high-pitched voice when every other guy's in school had dropped. Even now his voice would still crack. Especially when he was scared.

He was scared a lot, too. Another of Chase's Heylin friends, Hannibal Roy Bean—he was a stickler for being called by his full name, for whatever reason—was a bully who loved to torment him. Frequently. There wasn't a day that went by that Hannibal didn't do something. Sometimes it was as tame as making him cough up his lunch money. Most of the time it wasn't.

Today he'd gotten lucky. Hannibal had been feeling "generous," so he'd only stolen his notes for the history final, which Master Fung had allowed them to use. One 3x5 notecard with as much information as they could fit on it. He'd gotten a decent amount on it, too, enough that Hannibal would likely pass the exam—but the joke was on him. He had an eidetic memory and didn't need the notecard anyway. He'd only made it so he wouldn't stick out any more than normal.

Now all he had to worry about was his gift for Chase.

He groaned softly, leaning his head against his locker for a moment before remembering it wasn't a good idea to linger after the final bell. Just because Hannibal had been in a generous mood earlier didn't mean he would be now. He quickly pulled his backpack out of his locker, leaving it completely bare. He wouldn't even leave his backpack in it if he could get away with it—he'd had at least ten of them ruined over the years whenever Hannibal decided he wanted to break into his locker and fuck with his stuff—but he would get in trouble if he took it to class with him. He'd learned to buy cheap backpacks and carry all his books to class with him very quickly. Nothing personal was ever brought with him to school.

He slammed his locker shut and shouldered his backpack, spying Hannibal talking with Chase at his locker a little further down the hall. He took the long way out of the school, the way that wouldn't take him past Chase and Hannibal, just to be on the safe side. He didn't breathe easy until he was safely inside the car his parents sent to pick him up every day, driven by his own personal chauffeur. Half the kids at school thought he was his dad, including Hannibal.

Only then did he allow himself to think about Chase's present. The very thought of giving him something for Christmas in front of everyone in his history class, which included both Wuya and Hannibal, was enough to make his stomach twist and turn. He should have opted out of it. They'd been given that option. He could have just asked to speak privately with Master Fung, who would have asked no questions and covered his gift for him. He would have still gotten a gift from someone, and no one would have ever known he hadn't given one himself. Master Fung was good like that.

But… as much as the thought made him anxious, he couldn't give up this opportunity.

He'd agonized over what he would give him for weeks, ever since he found out. It had to be perfect. He'd searched every store he came across for _the_ gift, and came up with nada. Finally he'd decided to make something for him, and had discarded plan after plan until he was finally satisfied. Then he'd spent night after night in his lab, trying to make it _just right._

It still wasn't finished. He shut himself away in his lab as soon as he got home, not bothering to inform his parents he was home. They wouldn't miss him. He worked all night, putting the finishing touches on it. He was dead tired by the time he made it back to school the next morning, but it was worth it. He hoped.

He kept the gift in his backpack and his backpack with him. Since it was the last day and only a half day his teachers didn't care about the no-backpack rule, thankfully. He only had one class before history, anyway, which was calculus. He did have to take a final in that class, but that was okay. He could—and occasionally did—solve equations in his sleep.

Once he'd written out and solved an equation that took up two whole blackboards by the time he was finished, only to wake up and realized he'd dreamed it. Thanks to his eidetic memory, he'd been able to recall the whole thing and rewrite it. Which he had, mostly for fun, but also for extra credit with his Cal teacher. He could fail the final with a zero and still pass the class.

He was the first one down with the Cal final, and he used the extra time to catch up on his sleep. When the bell rang, he very slowly picked up his bag and made his way to the door, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. This was it. There was no going back now.

He slipped into his history classroom, hoping to go unnoticed. It worked, mostly. All the other kids were busy giving each other their gifts. Chase was leaning against the wall, the only one not giving someone else a gift. He probably had already given it.

He hesitated, working up the courage to approach him. The other seniors were degenerating into chaos now, each having received their gifts. He took one step, then another. He could do this.

He couldn't do it. He retreated back, trying not to cry. Oh god, not here. As if he wasn't picked on enough already. He'd managed not to cry in front of anyone for the last few years, he couldn't ruin that now.

"Has everyone received their gifts?" Master Fung asked, looking over the class. He watched as his gaze met Chase's. Chase shook his head.

"Jack?"

Oh fuck. Why hadn't he opted out of this? Chase's golden eyes turned to him, looking a little startled. He'd probably forgotten he existed, honestly. He hadn't spoken a single word to him in years, not since the disastrous last time he'd tried to hang out with him in middle school. He could still hear him sneering at him, calling him a pathetic little worm.

He inched forward, reaching into his backpack with shaking hands. "H-H-Here," he stuttered, fumbling his creation as he offered it to him, "Me—Merry Christmas."

Hannibal snickered, snatching the gift from him before Chase could take it. Not that he would have. He hadn't moved from his spot on the wall.

"What's this?" Hannibal asked, examining the metal structure in his hands. It was a gorgeous Chinese dragon, at least in Jack's opinion, twisting around on itself. The base of the statue was a swirling cloud, painted a metallic ivory so it shimmered each time Hannibal turned it over. The dragon itself was a green so dark it was almost black, a hopefully unnoticed tribute to the color of Chase's hair, each scale individually layered over each other. The fur at the head and tail was tricky; he hadn't wanted to be tacky but he'd wanted it to seem realistic. In the end he'd used very fine wire, also airbrushed the same dark green and carefully placed so that it appeared from a distance to actually be fur. The teeth and claws gleamed silver, razor sharp and deadly, the left front talons firmly grasping a real pearl he'd stolen from his mother. Its eyes were gold, as close to Chase's eye color as he could get.

"It looks expensive, Spicer," Wuya said, leaning over to look at it herself, "However did you convince Mommy and Daddy to buy it?"

"I m-made it."

He was pleased to note his voice only wavered once. Hannibal's eyebrows shot up.

"In that case," he drawled in that stupid fake Southern accent of his. He raised the dragon above his head.

"No!"

Hannibal gave him a wicked grin and he ran, unwilling to see the dragon he'd worked so hard on be smashed to pieces. The tears flowed freely now, and he didn't bother to check them. He wanted to die.

There was a small space under the stairs leading down to the gym where they coaches shoved extra equipment. It was where he normally hid from Hannibal whenever he was in the mood to use him as a punching bag, and it was where he went now. He could bury himself behind all the equipment and wait until everyone was gone, then go home and kill himself. It would pretty easy to do, all he had to do would be raid his dad's medicine cabinet and his mom's booze stash. Between the two he was sure he could concoct a death potion, even if chemistry wasn't his strong suit.

"Jack!"

He jerked. Had he just heard…? No, of course not. Just wishful thinking.

"Jack."

There it was again, softer this time. He curled himself into a tight ball, willing it to go away. He didn't want to think about Chase right now. It hurt too much.

"Jack, please look at me."

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, scrambling back with a noise somewhere between a yelp and a sob. Chase's golden eyes looked back at him.

"Have you come to tell me how pathetic I am?" he asked bitterly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. A strange expression crossed Chase's face—something Jack's brain wanted to tell him was regret.

Yeah, right. As brilliant as his brain was, it didn't know shit at interpreting others' emotions.

"No," he said quietly, "I came to give you your gift."

He blinked. His gift? Oh. Fung must have given him his name for the exchange.

"Alright then," he said, suddenly feeling empty. Hollow. Like there was nothing left inside him to care. "Let's get it over with."

Chase hesitated. Was he… nervous?

There was his stupid brain making assumptions again.

"I… It's not as good as yours," he said, holding out a small package, "but I hope… I hope you like it."

He furrowed his brow together, but took the package. It was brightly wrapped in red foil, tied with a small white bow. He had been expecting a punch, to be honest, even though Chase had never hit him.

He slowly unwrapped the package, finding underneath the wrapping a small jewelry box. Chase was giving him jewelry?

He was. He opened the box to see a locket. It was a plain, oval locket, and when he flipped it open there was a picture of them inside. It was an old picture, taken back in elementary school. Jack had his arms slung around Chase, and they were both grinning at the camera.

He remembered that day. It was one of the last good memories he had.

"I'm sorry I don't know you well enough anymore to know what you really want," Chase said softly. He scowled, clutching the locket in his fist—refusing to admit how much it meant to him.

"Whose fault is that?" he snarled. Chase looked down.

"Mine."

"I would have been happy just to have been your friend," he said, the anger leaving him just as suddenly as it came. He wiped his eyes.

"I wouldn't have pushed for more."

He saw no reason to hide his feelings. He was sure the whole school knew. He hadn't exactly been quiet about it way back when, before he'd learned better. Chase sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he admitted, "but it scared me."

"My feelings for you scared you?" he asked incredulously, but Chase was already shaking his head.

"No," he said, "My feelings for you scared me."

His— _what?_

"Are you saying you—because you—"

Chase nodded. He spluttered.

"That's the _stupidest_ thing I've ever heard."

The older boy grimaced.

"Yeah, I know."

"So what, you think you can confess your love for me and everything will be forgiven?"

His mouth twisted wryly.

"I admit I'd hoped," he murmured. Jack laughed. It was not a happy sound.

"You're not that stupid, Young."

Chase sighed again, his eyes sad.

"Jack…" he began, trailing off before starting again, "I'm an asshole, I know. You have every right to refuse to even give me a chance. But I… please. Please, Jack. Let me try to make it up to you."

He hesitated. What if this was a trick?

"Wh-Why now?" he asked, hating the waver in his voice. Chase paused.

"I really don't know," he answered, and somehow Jack knew that was the truth. "Maybe because it's senior year. You're going to head off to some amazing college and do amazing things with that amazing brain of yours, and I don't know if I can follow. I've worked damn hard to keep my GPA just below yours, but how do I know it will be enough? I'm scared of how I feel, Jack, that's true. But the more I think about you leaving, the more I realize I'm even more scared of losing you."

He stopped, giving a short, derisive laugh.

"The irony is I've probably already lost you. But I have to try."

Jack took a deep breath, trying hard to keep himself together. He wanted to yell at him, to walk away and never look back, to throw himself in his arms and never let go.

Something caught his attention, then, a drop of red falling from Chase's palm. His hand was bleeding. Chase followed his gaze and smiled.

"Those claws are as sharp as they look," he said, reaching next to him to pick up the metal dragon that Jack hadn't even noticed.

"You… Did you—"

"Catch it? Of course I did. You made it. It's beautiful."

His fingers slid down the dragon, caressing it lightly. Jack blushed.

"I… I, uh—Here."

He dug into his bag, trying not to think about the suddenly very real possibility of those fingers touching him like that. He pulled out a roll of gauze.

"What about your girlfriend?" he asked, his eyes widening as he remembered Wuya. She would murder him. Chase rolled his eyes, taking the gauze from him.

"Wuya is not, has never been, and will never be my girlfriend."

"She's not? But she's always going on about how good you are—"

He stopped, his face flaming. Chase arched an eyebrow.

"In bed?" he supplied dryly. He nodded meekly.

"She lies," he said bluntly, "Al the girls I've supposedly fucked are lying."

"All… of… them…?"

It was a hard concept to wrap his mind around. There were a lot of them. Chase took a deep breath, returning his attention to him.

"Jack," he said slowly, "Have any of the girls you heard talking about me ever mention this?"

He reached under his shirt, pulling out a fine silver chain. From it hung a very ugly piece of metal that Jack recognized as the very first gift he'd ever given Chase—ever. He'd been maybe six when he'd first seen those cheesy best friend necklaces in a store somewhere. His parents wouldn't let him buy a set, so he'd snuck down to what was now his private lab and attempted to make his own. He'd been so proud of the misshapen, misspelled result, and had given the one that had said "Best" on it to Chase the next time he'd seen him—because he was Chase's friend, and Chase was definitely the best.

"I thought you'd gotten rid of that a long time ago," he whispered. Chase shook his head.

"I took it off, but I always carried it with me," he said, "I thought I'd lost it freshman year, when I had a hole in my pocket and it fell through. After I found it I put it back on and never took it off again."

Never? His head spun. His own half was buried deep in a box in the corner his lab. He'd come to hate the sight of it, but he'd never been able to bring himself to throw it away.

"Did you replace the chain so I wouldn't know?" he asked. To his surprise, red began to stain Chase's cheeks.

"No, I… uh…"

He flushed harder, obviously flustered.

"I hold onto it when I… and sometimes I pull too hard…"

He tilted his head, trying to decipher what he… meant… _Oh._

"You think about me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, his own cheeks heating up. Chase nodded, face still flaming. There was a small, awkward silence, then Chase coughed.

"Why do you have gauze in your bag?"

Jack blinked, but pounced on the subject change gratefully.

"Well, you know, so I can patch myself up after Hannibal beats me."

Golden eyes went from embarrassed to angry faster than he could blink.

"He what?"

His tone was calm. _Too_ calm.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't know," he snapped, running a hand through his hair again, "Fuck, I knew I should have gotten him kicked out a long time ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

He snorted.

"Excuse me for not believing you cared."

Chase stopped cold, a pained look crossing his face.

"Shit, Jack, I'm sorry. I should have—"

"Oh shut up you idiot, and kiss me."

He reached out, grabbing Chase by the shirtfront and yanking him forward. He looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do. Chase's eyes widened, but he bent his head, stopping just shy of his lips.

"You really want me to kiss you?" he asked hesitantly. He nodded, his heart thudding in his chest. Their lips met.

Maybe Master Fung knew what he was doing after all.


	2. Chapter 2

"Don't forget your presents for the gift exchange!"

As if he could forget. Chase stood, slowly gathering his stuff as he waited for the initial rush of students to the door to dwindle. Master Fung caught his eye and he nodded, making his way to the door and out into the hall. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Jack was in front of him, as it always did whenever the redhead was in his line of sight. The sensation was, as always, wanted and unwanted at the same time, the jolt accompanied by pain so acute it stole his breath. He was tired of fighting this.

He pushed past him, nudging him just hard enough to be considered rough, but not quite hard enough to bruise his fragile white skin. He didn't have to push him. There was just enough room that he could have squeezed by without touching him, but these moments were the only times he got to touch him now. It was his drug, the stolen touches that were all wrong—not what he wanted but impossible to resist.

He made it to his locker, pulling out his bag and turning, watching Jack from the corner of his eye until Hannibal demanded his attention. By the time he was able to safely look again the younger boy was gone. He slammed his locker shut and left, making it to the parking lot just as Jack clambered into the car his parents sent for him. His last sight of him for the day.

He was utterly pathetic, he knew. What was worse was that he'd put himself in the position he was in. He was an idiot and an asshole, but maybe… Maybe tomorrow he'd have the strength to apologize. Maybe tomorrow he'd gain the chance to earn his forgiveness.

Maybe.

His house was silent and empty when he finally arrived home his parents away—once again—on a business trip. That had been one of the things that he'd bonded with Jack over as a kid, they both knew the loneliness of being the only child of distant parents. He'd dealt with it pretty well as a child. Once upon a time he'd been able to make friends easily. He'd had three close friends: Guan, Dashi… and Jack.

Guan hated him now. Chase didn't really like him, either—for all that he'd claimed to be a "good guy," he'd left Jack just as alone as he had. As stupid as his reason for turning away from Jack had been, Guan had had no reason to do the same. Dashi, at least, had tried to look out for Jack, but hid dad had gotten offered a job and he'd moved away.

He sighed, dropping his bag on the floor. He was normally pretty neat, but lately he hadn't felt like putting in the effort. He fed the cats—he had three, all that he had found on the side of the street as kittens—then shut himself in his room for the night. For awhile he sat at his desk, studying for his last final. He was nowhere near as brilliant as Jack, but he was intelligent in his own right and didn't really need to study now. He just had nothing better to do.

Last year he would have called Hannibal or Wuya to hang out, but he was steadily getting sicker and sicker of them both. He'd known even before he'd started hanging out with them that they weren't nice people, but Hannibal had somehow convinced him that he was better off with them. He couldn't even remember what had attracted him to them back in middle school, except that his own emotions had freaked him out so much that he'd tried everything he'd possibly could to get away from the source.

If he could go back in time, he would tell his younger self not to let his fear control him—but he couldn't go back in time. And his fear still very much controlled him.

He studied until the words blurred on the page, then conceded defeat. He stood, stripping off his clothes and letting them fall to the floor. He laid down, but didn't get under the covers. Not yet. Thoughts of Jack—ever in his mind—swam to the forefront. He'd stopped fighting these thoughts a long time ago, thoughts that belonged in the dark of night. Thoughts that still made him feel dirty, but not quite in the way they used to. He used to hate how only thoughts of Jack, pale skin flushed under him, hair in disarray, face twisted as he sought the high Chase was more than willing to give him, was the only thing that aroused him. Now he just felt like a pervert, desiring someone that wasn't his—and probably never would be.

One hand went down, the other rising to grip the ugly piece of metal that was his most prized possession. Would Jack's skin flush all over? He imagined it would. He imagined the younger boy would be pretty that way. Beautiful, as only Jack could be.

He closed his eyes, imagining what he looked like under his clothes. How he would move. How he would feel. How he would taste.

He came with a hoarse cry, the chain around his neck breaking. For a moment he simply lay, panting, staring at the ceiling. The he sighed, raising the misshapen half heart up, broken chain dangling. He examined the chain to see if it was easily fixable; it wasn't. He placed the broken necklace carefully on his bedside table and crawled off his bed, moving to clean himself up and slip into his pajama pants before opening the drawer in his bedside table. He pulled out a replacement chain, sliding the only remnant of Jack's love off the broken chain onto the new one so he could hang it around his neck once more.

Only then did he get under his covers, curling up in a tight ball. He used to hate himself for the way he felt. Now he was older, wiser. Now he didn't hate himself for the way he felt, but for the way he made Jack feel. He couldn't even look him in the eyes anymore, because he knew he'd only see all the hurt and betrayal he'd caused.

He cried himself to sleep, which wasn't unusual for him to do now. His dreams were restless and unpleasant, and when his alarm finally went off he was still crying. At some point during the night he must have let the cats in because they were all curled up around him, one in the crook of his knees, one at his stomach, and the youngest one, a tiny white kitten that reminded him of Jack, burrowed under his hair, his little head resting on his neck.

It pulled a small smile from him. His cats were the only things that could make him smile now. He slid his hands through the fur of the one at his stomach, then reached back to gently grasp the little kitten, lifting him up so he could sit up without him tumbling off. He adjusted his grip so he could settle the kitten in his arms, then pulled himself out of bed.

The kitten, which he'd been resisting calling Little Jack, was happy to be carried, although as soon as he got into the bathroom and set him down he was off, rather clumsily attempting to stalk one of the older cats. Much more patient with the kitten than the other adult cat, it allowed the kitten to pounce on its tail.

Chase watched them for a bit, then turned to his reflection with a sigh. He looked like hell, and didn't really even care. He washed his face to erase the tear tracks, brushed his teeth, brushed his hair, and when he got back to his bedroom pulled on some clean clothes, but that was about it when it came to his appearance.

On his desk sat a small package; his present for Jack. It was wrapped in red—for his eyes, his favorite physical feature of Jack—and tied with a white ribbon—for his pale white skin. Inside it was probably the lamest present he could give, but it was the best he could do. He picked it up, slipping it into his coat pocket. He grabbed his bag on the way out the door.

Jack wasn't in his first class, English Lit, which was probably a good thing because he always had a hard time concentrating when he was around. He hoped he did well on the final. He liked to read—a lot, actually—but he hadn't felt like reading for quite some time now and it made getting through the assigned reading hard and retaining it even harder. He hadn't thought he needed to study for it and he probably hadn't, but he was always hit with a little anxiety when he sat down to take tests for school. What if he failed? What if his grades weren't good enough to get him into the same college as Jack?

He wondered what college he would go to. He would have his pick, of course. That brilliant brain of his had already pretty much guaranteed him entrance into any school of his choice. He'd applied to all the top schools with good engineering programs that his extensive research could find. Jack wanted to go into robotics, which meant he had to have a bachelors in mechanical engineering first. The best school for that was MIT, so that was the one he was banking on Jack going to—but Jack was unpredictable at the best of times, so who knew what college he would pick?

He was… satisfied… with his English Lit final when he turned it in. He was certain he didn't do nearly as well as he could have, but he was also reasonably certain that he'd passed with a sufficiently high score. There was nothing he could do about it after it passed out of his hands, though, so he pushed it to the back of his mind to worry about later.

Jack's present sat heavy in his pocket. There was nothing to distract him from thinking about it now, and it was only years of being trained to remain still that kept him from fidgeting as he watched the clock tick closer to his next class—and the gift exchange. He was the first out of the classroom when the bell rang, his nerves carrying him swiftly down the hall. Consequently, he was also the first to arrive at Master Fung's classroom. He could feel his Kungfu coach's eyes on him as he sat down, concerned, but the man didn't say anything—likely because other students were beginning to arrive.

It didn't take long for the history classroom to become a den of chaos as his classmates exchanged their gifts. He moved to lean against the wall, out of the way of the other students and in clear sight of the door so he could watch for Jack. Wuya attempted to sidle up to him, but Master Fung intercepted her—whether on purpose or not he wasn't sure. Either way, he was grateful.

Jack slipped into the room as the bell rang, hanging back as his wide crystal eyes nervously surveyed the room. He quickly looked away trying to steel himself for what he was about to do. He could do this. It was just a little gift. He could do this.

He couldn't. He was too much of a coward.

He was so busy trying—and failing—to convince himself to take the few short steps over to Jack and give him his gift that he failed to notice he had yet to receive a gift until Master Fung was raising his voice to be heard over the cacophony of chatter steadily rising to a dull roar, asking if everyone had received their gifts. He looked at him, shaking his head.

"Jack?"

Every cell in his body froze when Master Fung called Jack's name, his eyes automatically turning to the younger boy. Master Fung had given Jack his name? He should have known he would. He'd requested Jack's name; it made sense that Master Fung would give Jack his. Especially since he'd forced him to divulge why he wanted to give Jack a gift. It seemed his coach had a soft spot for the genius, not that he could blame him.

The boy genius approached him slowly, pulling something he knew instantly the boy had made himself from his bag. He couldn't get a proper look at it because Jack's hands were wrapped around it, but it appeared to be a Chinese dragon from what he could see of it.

Were Jack's hands always that small?

"H-H-Here. Me—Merry Christmas."

Jack's voice was quiet, wavering. How long had it been since he'd last spoken to him? He couldn't remember.

Hannibal snickered, taking the dragon from Jack before he could convince himself to move. He turned it around in his hands, allowing him to see it in full.

It was beautiful. Jack had come a long way since his first non-robotic creation, half of which currently rested over his heart. He wasn't surprised at all; Jack never did anything he didn't put his full heart into and he was nothing if not a quick study. He'd no doubt mastered the intricacies of making metal sculptures quickly.

He was proud of him.

His heart ached. Would he ever be able to say those words to him? Would he ever be able to tell him he was proud of his achievements, of his accomplishments? Would he ever be able to tell him how much he always enjoyed seeing his newest creation on display in the science hall, or hearing the math teachers praise him to each other as he walked past them in the hall?

Would he ever be able to tell him he loved him?

He missed Wuya's mocking question and Jack's reply, wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, but he did notice Hannibal raising the dragon over his head and Jack's cry of denial. He looked up in time to see Hannibal smirk and Jack run, his cheeks glimmering with tears—and finally he could move. He was next to Hannibal, catching the other boy's thin wrist in a steely grip before he could take his next breath, much less think about dropping or throwing Jack's dragon on the ground. Jack's gift to _him._

"That's mine," he said quietly, meeting Hannibal's startled gaze. There was fear in his eyes as he took the dragon away from him, and he confessed—to himself—that he enjoyed that.

"Lusting after him, Chase?" Hannibal sneered, recovering quickly once he had let him go. "I've seen the way you look at him."

Their classmates gasped, their eyes going wide. He refused to rise to the bait.

"So what if I am?" he asked, a weight lifting off him as he admitted it out loud. Hannibal sneered again.

"That little cunt's probably whored himself to—"

His vision went red, one hand curling tightly around Jack's dragon as the other delivered a solid punch to Hannibal's jaw that dislocated it and sent him flying. He turned on his heel and left the room without another word.

Jack's footsteps echoed through the mostly empty halls and he followed the sound quickly, his grip gradually relaxing on the dragon. He was halfway down the hall before he realized the dragon's wicked sharp talons had shredded his palm. He would have to clean Jack's dragon carefully so his blood didn't mar it.

He was surprised when he realized Jack was heading for the gym. As brilliant as he was, Jack eschewed most forms of heavy physical activity. It made more sense when he got to the bottom of the stairs and heard rustling noises as Jack hid himself among the sports equipment stored there.

"Jack!"

He jerked, but didn't respond, sniffling quietly as he settled into his spot. He called his name again, but he just curled himself into a ball.

"Jack, please look at me."

He reached out, barely brushing his fingers on Jack's shoulder—and pulled back sharply when he scrambled away from him. The ache in his chest became stronger at the small sob he gave.

"Have you come to tell me how pathetic I am?" the younger boy asked, crystal eyes meeting his for the first time in years. His heart twisted, reminding him he was guilty of doing just that before. It was the reason he was in this position now.

"No," he said softly, "I cam to give you your gift."

Jack blinked, obviously puzzled, but it didn't take long for realization to click in his eyes.

"Alright then," he said, his voice—and eyes—empty. "Let's get it over with."

His heart thudded, every nerve thrumming as he forced himself to reach into his coat pocket and retrieve the package. He offered it to him.

"I… It's not as good as yours," he stuttered, "but I hope… I hope you like it."

Jack gave him a strange look, but took the gift. He unwrapped it slowly, warily, looking at it as if he thought it would bite him. He watched him as he opened the box, then the locket. He was trembling as he did, and he could only hope Jack didn't notice.

"I'm sorry I don't know you well enough anymore to know what you really want."

Jack scowled. He felt his heart splinter.

"Whose fault is that?"

He looked down. He could feel the tears welling up within him. Jack was angry, and he had every right to be.

"Mine."

"I would have been happy just to be your friend," Jack said. He sounded hollow again.

"I wouldn't have pushed for more."

No, of course not. He never had, even though he hadn't hidden that he want more.

"I know, and I'm sorry… but it scared me."

"My feelings for you scared you?" Jack asked, disbelief clear in his voice and expression. He shook his head.

"No," he corrected, "My feelings for you scared me."

Jack's eyes went wide. Chase's heart thumped faster. This was it. There was no turning back now.

"Are you saying you—because you—"

He nodded. A few unintelligible syllables escaped Jack's mouth.

"That's the _stupidest_ thing I ever heard," he exploded finally. He grimaced.

"Yeah, I know."

"So what, you think you can confess your love for me and everything will be forgiven?"

His heart sank, but he forced himself to assume a wry expression.

"I admit I'd hoped," he said, his tremors growing worse. Jack didn't appear to notice, giving a dry laugh.

"You're not that stupid, Young."

He sighed, wondering if anything even mattered anymore.

"Jack…"

What did he say? His heart was shattered beyond repair. The only thing that could save him was the boy looking at him as if he were something nasty he'd found on the bottom of his shoe.

"I'm an asshole, I know. You have every right to refuse to even give me a chance. But I… please. Please, Jack. Let me try to make it up to you."

Jack hesitated. He curled his fingers into his palms, waiting for Jack to seal his fate. He wouldn't recover if he refused. He would slowly waste away, only a shell of who he once was—and it would be his own fault.

He wouldn't let Jack know, of course. The other boy would likely himself if he ever found out, and he never, never wanted him to do that. He was the idiot who had done this to himself, not Jack. Jack wasn't at fault for his sins.

"Wh-Why now?"

The question caught him off guard. Why now? What had changed? Why was he suddenly realizing he was a stupid moron who had pushed away one of the few people he'd ever actually cared about?

"I really don't know," he answered honestly, "Maybe because it's senior year. You're going to head off to some amazing college and do amazing things with that amazing brain of yours, and I don't know if I can follow. I've worked damn hard to keep my spot below you, but how do I know it will be enough? I'm scared of how I feel, Jack, that's true. But the more I think about you leaving, the more I realize I'm even more scared of losing you."

He couldn't help the self-deprecating laugh. The one thing he feared the most was the one thing he was already directly responsible for.

"The irony is I've probably already lost you. But I have to try."

He watched as Jack took a deep breath. His fingernails dug into his palm, making the cuts from the dragon's claws even wider. He could feel his blood sliding across his palm, dropping to the floor. Jack's eyes jumped to the dark red drop. He smiled.

He deserved the pain.

"Those claws are as sharp as they look," he said, keeping his voice as casual as possible as he reached to pick up the dragon again, making sure to hold it with his non-bloody hand.

"You… Did you—"

"Catch it?" he supplied when Jack couldn't seem to find the words, "Of course I did. It's beautiful."

Just like him.

Jack flushed, flustered by the compliment.

"I… I, uh—Here."

He reached into his bag, fishing out a roll of gauze and offering it to him. The younger boy paused, his eyes widening.

"What about your girlfriend?"

He rolled his eyes, taking the gauze from him. Wuya loved to tell everyone they were dating. He'd never corrected the lies because… well… they were good cover.

"Wuya is not, never has been, and never will be my girlfriend," he said flatly. It was high time he did correct those rumors.

"She's not?" But she's always going on about how good you are—"

Jack's face went bright red. He arched an eyebrow, somehow actually amused by the look on the younger boy's face. He hadn't been truly amused in… years.

"In bed?"

Jack nodded.

"She lies. All the girls I've supposedly fucked are lying."

"All… of… them?"

His face was comical, but there was a not very small amount of skepticism in his eyes. He took a deep breath. He had already admitted his feelings, might as well admit everything.

"Jack… Have any of the girls you've heard talking about me ever mention this?"

He pulled the half-heart out from under his shirt. Jack's eyes widened.

"I thought you'd gotten rid of that a long time ago," he whispered. He shook his head, explaining how he'd kept it with him always and the panic that had prompted him to wear it again when he'd thought he'd lost it. Jack listened, eyes impossibly wide.

"Did you replace the chain so I wouldn't know?"

He flushed. Trust the younger boy to pick up on that. He stuttered out the truth, not quite able to actually say it out loud. He saw the exact moment it clicked; Jack's cheeks reddened and his eyes somehow managed to get even bigger?

"You think about me?"

Only every night since his hormones had kicked in, but he didn't say that out loud. He was already embarrassed enough. Instead he nodded, casting about for something to change the subject to. Anything. His eyes landed on the roll of gauze.

"Why do you have gauze in your bag?"

Jack blinked, but seized the subject change. His answer made something white-hot sizzle through him.

"He what?"

"You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't know," he snapped. He knew Hannibal bullied him—it was no secret—but he hadn't known he'd done so physically. He must have been very careful not to let him find out. How long had he known he was in love with Jack?

"Fuck, I knew I should have had him kicked out a long time ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

As soon as the question left his mouth he regretted it. Of course Jack wouldn't tell him, as far as he'd known he hadn't cared. He didn't need to hear his snort and derisive comment to know it.

His heart twisted painfully.

"Shit Jack, I'm sorry. I should have—"

"Oh shut up you idiot and kiss me."

Jack grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him forward, surprisingly strong for someone who didn't like physical activity. His eyes widened, his head dipping automatically, but he stopped just short of his mouth.

"You really want me to kiss you?"

He couldn't believe he'd really heard what he had, but Jack nodded, and he couldn't stop himself. Their lips met.

He broke down.

(^_^)

I'll just… leave this here. Merry Christmas, everyone! If you liked this let me know, and keep an eye out for future works. While you're waiting, check out my friend P3ac3fulFor3st's stories. She has big plans for her current multichapter fic, Delicate. ;-D Thanks for reading!

BaiLong05


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